Dirty Suits and Bloody Cigarettes
by AMMO121
Summary: The dead do not feel. So what does that make Sanji? Or how Sanji died, but then got better. Zombie Fic


His name is Sanji, he knows this because of the dirty business cards that he found in his front pocket. He knows that he had been pretty well off _before_ , because of the expensive suite and how comfortable he is in it. Not that he feels much of anything these days, let alone comfort. The dead rarely do feel anything except hungry. Sanji knows this feeling well, because it's a feeling that is always with him.

The others think that he's weird, as much as they can think anything. When they gather in groups and go hunting, but he never goes with them. He doesn't know why, but he thinks it's because he was a cook. He knows this because of how he chose to reside in a five star restaurant, and because his business card tells him so. Something about eating something uncooked, probably. It's hard to tell, most days his thoughts are muddled. Then there are the black outs, which he doesn't like wasting brain power thinking about. He once blacked out and ended up walking half way across the city. He came back to himself standing in front of a large burned down house. He remembers finding the giant sheep's head quite strange, before he shuffled around and headed back to his restaurant.

Sanji also thinks that he was once a very curious person, and maybe a hoarder. Because instead of going hunting with the others, he always goes for walks. He's not sure why he does it, but if he stays in one place for too long he gets restless. That also doesn't make sense, because the dead do not get restless. One of the others, an older women with gray hair, never moves so much as a step from the window of her art studio, unless it's to go hunting and then she just comes back to her original spot. He wonders if she's tied to that art studio like he's tied to this restaurant. Maybe not personally, but through the simple fact of what it is.

He wanders farther each time he goes out, looking for something that he can't describe, but he's pretty sure it's not food. Which is a little strange for someone that used to be a chief. (He hopes that his black outs aren't connected to his lack of food.) Sometimes he's away for days, mostly because all he can do is shuffle along, and that isn't the fastest way to travel. He sometimes stops at places that grab his attention. Today it's a museum, large and probably raided years ago, but he still goes in.

He was right, most of all the cases have been smashed open and their contents stolen, but he still looks anyway. He's found that most raiding is done in a panic, at least of none essentials, and that when people panic, they get sloppy. Sure enough, when Sanji breaks down a door in the back, there's a couple unopened crates and a few that had been pried open but still have their contents. He thinks that it was probably done by someone that worked here years ago, _before_. Two of crates have stone tablets in them, in a language that Sanji would never know. They're smallish, only about the size of an average dinning plate, and so he picks them up and tucks them under his arm. And then he looks into the other crate and pulls out three swords. There old, even he can tell that, and so he decides to take them. That's the only reason.

 _'Three is better then two-'_

When he gets back he places his objects in the back room, the one that was probably once an office. The tablets are placed on the desk and rapped in some papers, and the swords are gently placed on one of the shelves, right next to the old straw-hat.

* * *

The first few months are fuzzy, in a way that's hard to describe. The first thing he remembers clearly is walking down this street, before he stops in front of the restaurant he would be spending the next of forever in. It was just him, a half empty pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and straw-hat on top of his head. The bell welcomes him in and he welcomes it back with a grunt.

* * *

Words come to him sometimes, and he gets the urge to say them, so he does. He thinks that he must of had a dirty mouth _before_ , because most of the time it's just swear words.

* * *

He thinks he was married _before_ , because of the silver band on his hand. He doesn't know why it's silver and not gold, but the engraving confuses him a lot more then what kind of metal it's made out of. Who puts ' _From Your Swordsmen_ ' on a fucking wedding ring?

* * *

His restaurant is surrounded by other buildings filled with those like him. His brain no longer processes numbers that high, so he couldn't give you an exact count, but it's enough to keep even the most desperate out. It's because of that that Sanji rarely encounters any of them. Even when he's off on one of his trips he rarely runs into them, not that he doesn't have his fair share of bullet wounds, ones that don't really bleed or hurt. But he's usually pretty lucky when it comes down to it, which is kind of why this is such a surprise.

"Put your hands up!" If Sanji had the motor skills to do so, he probably would have jumped in surprise. The voice comes from behind him and Sanji's pretty confused. They don't usually give his kind any kind of warning. Maybe the stranger thinks he's alive? The dead don't usually go around wearing straw-hats and carrying first aid kits under their arms. "Or I, God Usopp, will shoot."

 _Li_ _a_ _r_

He figure it's best to just ignore him, it's not like getting shot would hurt. As long as he doesn't get hit in the head everything would be-.

 **Bang**

Sanji's body jerks forward, and he has to change his stance to keep from falling forward. The air is deathly silent for a moment, the only sound being the living's nervous stuttering. A feeling wells in his body, one that's familiar but foreign to his undead body. He feels his hand curl into themselves, and his jaw tenses until his teeth are grinding together. A sound wells in his throat, a growl that differs greatly from the usual grunts and huffs. It comes out, loud and menacing in the silence, and Sanji turns towards his attacker.

Sanji expected more shooting, probably at the head this time, and he even expected the shocked look on the others face, but he did not expect what exactly happened.

This 'God Usopp' dropped his gun, the shocked expression twisted itself with pain. One of his hand reach towards the undead man, even as his living counter part took a step back.

"Sanji?" And then it was Sanji's turn to be surprised, internally of course, the dead to not have surprised expressions. This person confuses Sanji and pisses him off, he should probably kill him, but something tells him that isn't a good idea. And so he takes advantage of the others shock and takes off into one of the side allies. He knows this part of town, and so only has to take a few more turns before he knows that he wasn't going to be followed. Even so, he doesn't stop till he's well into undead territory.

* * *

There's another one of his kind, a man about Sanji's age, mid twenties. He comes into Sanji's restaurant every now and again and takes a seat at one of the intact seats. He doesn't wear a shirt, which kind of itches at something inside Sanji, and he always has this lighter on him. It's long ago run out of fuel, but he still flicks the top open and tries to light it. When he can't, he'll flip it shut, only to start all over again. It sometimes makes Sanji want to take the bloodied pack of cigarets out of his pocket.

Sometimes Sanji sets a plate in front of the other, but he can never bring himself to put anything on it. Nothing to severe, what a horrible chief he must be.

And sometimes, they even manage to exchange words. It took forever to exchange names, the first time that the other followed him back to his restaurant.

"A-ace-e." He huffed.

"Sa-San-ji." Sanji grunted back.

Sanji thinks, that day, that he might have made himself a friend.

* * *

Sometimes Sanji takes the straw-hat with him, sometimes he doesn't. He'll go months without taking the thing off it's place on his shelf's. Other times he'll go forever without taking the thing off. He's not sure why this is, but he's noticed that he doesn't black out as often when he wears it. He's also hesitant to risk getting it damaged. Strange, that the dead worry about a pointless thing like that. Sanji reaches up and puts his hand on top of the hat, and thinks that his hand feels warm.

 _'_ _Hold onto this for me would you?'_

Yes, quite strange.

* * *

Sometimes Sanji will automatically do things, form long forgotten muscle memory mostly. Like going to wash his hands, he does that a lot, even though there is no running water here anymore. He sometimes wakes from black outs to find himself cutting into rotting vegetables. This also causes something in him itch, and only gets worse when he throws them into the trash. It's overflowing, so he takes it down the street and dumps it into the back of a garbage truck that's half sticking out of the front of cloths shop.

The dead don't need to do any of those things, yet Sanji does.

* * *

Ace's visits are random, sometimes days apart sometimes months. He often comes back with new holes in his chest. Probably from traveling to close to living settlements. Ace is stupid like that, Sanji has found. He likes to test boundaries, and push until he's forced to back down. Sanji once found him standing in the room with Sanji's objects, staring at the straw-hat. Sanji ruined his only full window in front, by sending Ace flying through it. Ace never does it again, and Sanji finally allows him to come back inside. He even helps pick out some of the larger peaces of glass from Ace's face. He kicks him again, though, when Ace makes suggestive grunts about picking the glass out of other parts of him.

Sanji is a married man after all.

* * *

There are Living and Dead settlements scattered about the city. Some of them have been around sense the beginning, others that pop up are newer. Some of them fall as quick as they can be built. Say what you will about both the living and the dead, there's no denying that they're stubborn.

"Br-others." Ace grunts at Sanji, one day among a thousand others.

"H-Husb-band." He huffs back, bringing his hand up to show off the ring. Ace makes the right sort of grunts to convey the appropriate appreciation. Then curls his lip up into something that might been a smirk.

"No-t, inv-i-ted to wedd-in-g?" Ace brings his hand up to his chest, like he's hurt. "O-r wedd-ing n-n-nig-ht?" Sanji would be impressed at the length of the sentence, if he wasn't busy sending the other man through the window, again.

Neither one of them mentions that they can't put a face to these people.

* * *

Sanji doesn't notice at first. Not the way that the others are starting to leave, or the way his injuries are starting to heal. It's only when the one on his arm, – the original bite mark, from what he can tell – starts to close, does he take notice. The man that's always leaning against the mail box across the street is gone. There are few dead wandering by his front windows. It's not yet time for them to go hunting, he realizes. What is going on, he's not sure he's ready to know.

And so he doesn't fallow, because what ever is driving the others to move is not having the same pull on him. So he stays, and he goes about his days like he has for as long he remembers.

He's wiping down a table with a dirty rag when Ace shows up. He doesn't come in, only stands in clear view and flicks his liter open and close until Sanji looks up. Neither one of them speak for a while.

"D-o you fe-el it?" Ace asks. Sanji shakes his head slowly. Then there's more silents. Sanji half expects Ace to walk away, to fallow the others. Instead he just pockets the liter and opens the door. The bell chimes after him. He takes his usual set at the table that Sanji's wiping down. "Oka-y."

* * *

Ace stays for longer then usual, and Sanji doesn't even notice till the one month mark comes and goes. Ace manages to somehow get the water to work again, and they both wash off some of the dirt and blood using the bathroom sinks. (Ace tried to use the ones in the kitchen, but the bottom of Sanji's shoe detures him from doing so.) He never realized how good it feels to be clean.

And with Ace's help, he – carefully – washes the straw-hat.

He waits a few more weeks to ask in stutters and grunts, why is he still here, why not follow the others. Ace has an answer before Sanji even had the question. "Be-cause, thi-s is wher-e I'm su-ppo-sed to be." The answer confuses Sanji, and Sanji is really tired of being confused.

The urge to move never comes, if anything Sanji losses the urge to be anywhere else. No more wandering about the city, just cleaning the restaurant with Ace's help. They talk, because it's getting easier to do so every day.

Ace doesn't once go out to hunt.

* * *

One day, about three months after Ace first shows up, a car drives down the street. Sanji and Ace are in the back room, watching some movie on the tiny TV that was here before Sanji. The power come back on two weeks ago, neither of them question it. They only hear it when it's right in front of the restaurant, and the movie goes to the credits. The tiny speakers not enough to drown out the sound of boots hitting the ground. Or of the bell ringing as the door's opened.

They share a look and stand up.

"Are you sure this is the right place Zoro?" A sweet voice sounds from the front. Someone – probably this Zoro – growls at the lady.

"I know where I fucking proposed!"

"Well then, why is this the fourth restaurant that we've stopped at today?" Sanji's pretty sure that he would have continued growling, if it wasn't for the two of them walking through the door.

The red head gasps and her hands fly to her mouth. Another women, this one older with black hair, also looks like she's holding back some kind of reaction. There are others also, but Sanji's attention is taken fully by the green headed man striding toward him. Before anyone can blink, there's a sword pressing against Sanji's neck. Ace steps forward, a few of the group voice their displeasure. But Sanji stops Ace with a hand to his chest, and the voices by leaning against the sword.

The sword bites into his skin, and a drop of blood wells up, and then slowly slid down his Sanji's neck.

The dead do not bleed.

Sanji isn't dead, not anymore.

Zoro drops his sword to the ground and Sanji so startled by that, that at first he takes a second to return the hug. Zoro goes in for a kiss, which Sanji easily dodges, he also dodges the seconds, and Zoro is looking really pissed by the third.

"Oy! What the hell cook, what the fuck is up with you!" And while Zoro does sound pretty pissed off at not being able to kiss his husband, but he doesn't even move to remove his arms.

"I haven't property brushed my teeth in years, you jackass!" Sanji is amused, and it's quite obvious to all those that are watching.

"Who gives a shit about that!" Zoro goes in for another attempt, but Sanji lets his head fall one the other mans shoulder, hiding his laughter and tears in Zoro's shoulder.

"Aw, now I feel left out!" Ace – the ass – mock wines from behind them. "You really know how to make a man feel used Sanji!" The others attention shift off the married couple, and to the other man. Ace gives a little wave to the group, and smiles at one boy in particular.

"Heya there Luffy!"

"A-a-a-ce-!" And Sanji doesn't even need to look over Moss-head's shoulder to know that the water works are coming on strong. After a moment Luffy gets over the shock, and literately jumped over a table to get to his brother. Sanji would have yelled at him for that, if it was any other time. Ace was having a hard time breathing – actually breathing, like a living person – but he took Luffy's hug like a champ. He ran a hand through the younger – would he still be younger? They didn't really age while they were dead. How many years has it been? – boys dark hair.

Which reminds him…

Sanji pushed his husband away, more gently then he would have _Before,_ and turns back towards the office. Their movie was just ending, the credits rolling up on the screen, the only light in the room. He crosses the room quickly, the Moss grumbling at him, but he fallows Sanji, probably unwilling to let him out of his sight. Sanji is quick to grab what he needs and make his way back to the door. He's glad that it's so dark, mostly so that the Shit-Moss couldn't see the numerous swords that scattered around the room. He's already gotten teased endlessly for it by the fire obsessed idiot.

He exits the room, object in hand and takes the few steps it takes to reach the brothers. Luffy still had Ace in a bone crushing hug, but Ace seems to be having an easier time breathing. He still had his head buried into his brothers shoulder, but Sanji doesn't wait for him to move. He sets the straw-hat where it belongs, right on top of 'Captain' Luffy's head.

"I believe I borrowed this,"He said, suddenly wishing he had a smoke. "Sorry it took so long for me to give back."

It's only Zoro's hand on his back that keeps Luffy from knowing Sanji right over with the force of his hug. "You stupid idiot, don't apologize or I'll kick your ass."

Sanji doesn't mention the wet spot forming on his shirt, and no one mentions his shaking shoulders. His stupid captain. His stupid Nakama. They never stopped believing that they would see him again, even when he didn't have any memory of them, they never forgot him. Luffy had given Sanji his hat – his treasure –, because he was a hundred percent sure that they would see each other again. Even with the bite mark on his arm staining his suit. Even with Zoro unconscious in the van – one that Franky had hot wired and tweaked a little – from a blow that Sanji himself had delivered. The Going Marry burning somewhere behind them, and Usopp and Choppers voices calling over the radio, concerned. Even when Nami had to drag Luffy back into the van, and Robin hit the gas, leaving Sanji behind, with tears in all of their eyes.

They never tried to forget him, and never doubted that they would meet again.

His Nakama came for him.

"I'm home."


End file.
